Evening.
Enchanted grounds.
Egasrae.
V
The news spread through Egasrae like wildfire, casting a ripple of surprise and whispers over the village. Egasrae was no ordinary place—it was an ancient, enchanted village hidden deep within the enchanted forest, its winding paths and towering trees casting eternal shadows.
Each structure was woven with spells, bound by the ancient magic of its inhabitants, giving Egasrae a vibrant pulse that mingled with the forest itself. Time here seemed slower, bending around the lives of witches, warlocks, and magical creatures who called it home.
Egasrae's architecture reflected its mystical heritage. The buildings were crafted from dark, sturdy wood intertwined with enchanted vines that pulsed faintly under the moonlight, shimmering like veins of emerald fire.
Every house was built by hand, its structure magically reinforced by spellbound stones and mortar, giving it an ethereal sturdiness. The cottages dotted along the main path were adorned with charms and talismans hanging from the eaves, wards against evil or hexes against ill fortune, spinning gently in the cool, whispering breeze.
The village center was dominated by a large, intricately carved fountain, its surface shimmering with enchanted water that would glow under the starlight and hum with the ancient chants embedded within its depths.
Surrounding the fountain were shacks and cottages—residences of witches, healers, and apprentices who spent their days in spellcraft and alchemy. The oldest houses held deep histories, carrying the souls and stories of their inhabitants within their walls, whispering old tales to those who would listen.
A wide, moss-covered path led to the lord's residence, a larger stone bungalow that blended seamlessly with the trees surrounding it. The bungalow was crowned by a dark slate roof, its chimneys sending up trails of misty smoke that smelled faintly of sage and rosemary. Lord Azul, the village's ancient leader and a master of witchcraft, resided here.
Azul was a witcher of great power, his presence alone enough to command respect and silence. Though he had lived for centuries, he still commanded the awe of his people, his ocean-blue eyes sharp and piercing like the depths of a forgotten sea.
When news of Ysara's return reached the village, the enchanted pathways lit up, a subtle glow following the whispers carried on the wind. Children ran along the lanes, their voices echoing with surprise and wonder. It had been almost two years since anyone had seen Ysara.
Her journeys into the mortal realms and other mysterious territories had always been lengthy, but this time her absence had stretched longer than usual, leading many to wonder if she had finally found her end on one of her ventures. Some of the villagers had even speculated that she'd moved on, leaving Egasrae for good.
"Ysara is back!" a young boy cried as he rushed through the narrow lanes, darting past clusters of villagers who stood frozen with the news. An apprentice in dark robes stepped out of a modest cottage, brushing a wisp of white hair from his face, mumbling in awe.
Just then, in Lord Azul's stone bungalow, a young boy named Callahan shifted the beaded curtain and stepped inside, dipping his head in respect. He looked toward Azul, who was seated before a bowl brimming with smoke. Azul's eyes, as ocean blue and endless as the ocean, flickered toward the boy, their depths unfathomable as he considered the meaning of Ysara's return.
"Lord Azul, I have news," Callahan announced, trying to mask the excitement in his voice.
The lord's gaze remained steady. "Speak, Callahan."
"Ysara has returned," the boy murmured, a mixture of awe and trepidation in his tone.
"Where is she now?" Azul asked, his voice a rich baritone, lined with years of wisdom.
"She has just crossed the borders," Callahan replied.
Azul's brows lifted slightly, a shadow of a smile crossing his lips. "Very well. Thank you. You may go."
As Callahan hurried out, Azul sank deeper into thought. Ysara's return would ripple through Egasrae, stirring both wonder and wariness. Known for her defiance of tradition, she had never quite fit into the village's structured way of life.
Despite her prodigious power, or perhaps because of it, Ysara had always seemed restless in the village, the lure of adventure and freedom drawing her away for years at a time.
But what intrigued Azul the most was the reason for her return this time. He had sensed something different in the air—a faint hum of energy that felt foreign, yet familiar, as though Ysara carried a new presence with her.
A few villagers had caught glimpses of her at the edge of the forest, cloaked and hooded, cradling a bundle against her chest. As she approached the village with careful steps, many thought she was holding her luggage or souveniers from one of the mortal realms.
The witches and warlocks of Egasrae, rarely seeing her were curious what brought her back this time.
Ysara made her way down the stone pathway toward her small, overgrown cottage. Her face was obscured by her hood, but her movements were deliberate, protective. She clutched the baby, his face barely visible beneath the dark cloth that wrapped him.
When she arrived at her cottage—a small structure with a thatched roof draped in moss and ivy—the villagers scattered, though many lingered at the edges, peering out from the shadows to catch a glimpse of her.
Once inside, Ysara drew the baby close, pressing her lips gently to his forehead, murmuring a protective charm. She couldn't let anyone here know his true identity. They would ask questions, demand answers, and Ysara had no intention of putting him through the dangerous tests and trials their society required of magical children.
For as much as she loved Egasrae, she knew its rigid traditions and demanding practices all too well. To keep Victore safe, she would shield him from it all, raising him away from the expectations and pressures of his birthright.
She would make him ordinary, for as long as she could.